I
by Elvenstar Imrahil
Summary: Started the first chapter before going to see SpiderMan 3. Movieverse. POV changes with chapter, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure out who it is. Minor spoilers in Chapters 2, 3. R&R, please, just mind your language. Chapter 4 is up!
1. Eroded

Eroded

What is that? The slightest shred of conscious thought. There are others. I try to gather them, to arrange them in a way that makes sense.

_Who am I?_

Two words drift tauntingly at the edge of my awareness. _My name._

I grasp at the words desperately, but the harder I try, the farther away they drift. I try a different question. What happened?

_Police. . . Dogs barking viciously. . . A fence. . . Barbed wire. . . Run!. . . Can't get caught!_

_Why?_

_A young girl, no older than ten. . . Deathly pale. . . Asleep._

_Penny. . ._

That's it. That's the reason I ever did anything, good or bad. For her. For my daughter. She still needs me.

But I can't see. I can't hear. I can't feel anything. _Am I dead?_

_No! I can't be dead! Penny needs me._ I finally remember my name, but it doesn't matter anymore. _Get up, Flint!_

I gather all the willpower I can muster and channel into one motion, one simple command: _Get up!_

It should be easy enough, but. . .

_A pit. . . I recall something, a sign. . . Said something about a test. . . My hand, dissolving, turning into. . . sand!_

I try several times before I succeed in raising a vaguely human-shaped mass of sand off the ground. Suddenly, I can see, and feeling begins to seep back into my limbs.

A glint of silver in the sand around me catches my eye. A locket. I reach for it with what I guess is supposed to be my hand, but my fingers disintegrate. I need that locket! It's all I've got, all I have to remember. . .

I reach for it again, willing my fingers to stay hard, not to dissolve. I manage to pick it up. I bring it closer and it falls open, revealing the thumbnail-sized portrait inside. Penny stares at me in silence from her place, frozen in that one moment that is captured within the locket.

I am eroded.


	2. Untitled

((Insert Title Here))

I inhale deeply as green smoke begins to seep into the small chamber I am standing in. I have only a slight idea of how the vapors will affect me, but my father's disapproving words from the previous night still echo in my mind; '_You know where my killer is, but still you do nothing!_'

I just--no, _all_ I want is to make my father proud of me. So I'll finish what he started. I'll don the mask. I _will_ avenge him!

Even if it means I have to kill my best friend.

I make a face as the gas pours into my lungs. It smells odd, but I can feel my muscles stretching as the vapors take effect. At first, a burning sensation seeps slowly through my limbs, then fades and is replaced by a dull ache. Then, suddenly. . .

_I can't breathe!_

I start gasping and choking, all in a futile attempt to force air into my lungs. I stumble over to the wall of the chamber and begin pounding on the glass, but all my oxygen-deprived body can muster are a few feeble efforts. "_Bernard!_" I manage to choke before falling to the floor.

But I know that Bernard won't come. No one knows about this place but me. My father's face appears on the glass, instructing me, even in death. '_Be strong, Harry._'

I hear the words, but they sound distant, far away in my barely-conscious mind. My lungs are burning, thirsty for fresh, cool air. _I'm sorry, Dad,_ I apologize. _You were right about everything. I'm weak._

The last thing I am aware of is a grey veil creeping across my field of vision. Then I surrender myself to the welcoming blackness.

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I open my eyes. I am standing in the center of the glass-walled chamber. The green fog is still swirling around me, but I am too amazed to notice. _I'm breathing! I'm alive!_

_ But how?_ No answers come, but I really don't care. I am too overjoyed about being alive.

I am suddenly aware of the unpleasant, musty smell of the gas. _The gas._ I look down at myself, seeing if the gas has done its work. There don't appear to be any changes. I bend my arm at the elbow and clench my fist. Muscles ripple fluidly beneath my skin; I can't help smiling to myself.

I start at the pneumatic hiss of the chamber doors opening. The pale green vapors billow out into the Lair and I follow. I inhale the fresh air beyond the chamber and grab my shirt from where I had draped it over one of the computer monitors. "That's weird," I mutter to myself when I notice the bold, flashing red letters on the screen: ERROR. I ignore it and pull my shirt on as I wander over to the weapon racks. The rows upon rows of orange spheres known as pumpkin bombs are but a few of the 'toys' my father has left for me.

I grab a sword off a shelf and start swinging it around as, once more, my father's voice comes to me: '_You swore to make Spider-Man pay, now make him pay_'

_I will, Dad. I will._

I am ((insert past-tense verb that is somewhat descriptive of Harry here))

END

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Any ideas for the last word (and the title)? Nothing is too dumb. I've been reccomended 'transformed' and 'empowered' already. If ever I needed your help, it is now.


	3. Engulfed

Engulfed

"It's Brock, sir," I say as I sit down on the second-row pew in the empty church. "Edward Brock Jr."

I have never prayed before, so I am incredibly nervous, but after that Parker kid wrecked my career, it seemed like He was the only one I could turn to. I've heard that He is supposed to help you through your darkest hour, and my life is pretty dark right now.

"I come before You today; humbled," I choose my words carefully, "and _humiliated_, to ask You for one thing." _How should I put it?_ I try to think of different ways I could phrase it, but my tongue has a different idea. Before I can stop myself, the one thing I want more than anything else slips out in crude, simple words: "I want You to kill Peter Parker."

I feel something like relief flow through me, as though some invisible, looming shadow has just been banished from my mind.

I look up at the statue depicting a man hanging from a cross by his hands, hoping for some sign of acknowledgement. Oddly, the statue looks upon me with what appears to be sorrow in his eyes. I look away quickly, not wanting to believe that that's what He really thinks of me.

Suddenly, I hear a scream coming from a door to my right. Curious, I get up and hesitantly open the door into a stairwell-like room. The stairs lead to a large bell hanging high above my head.

The bell gongs as a black-clad Spider-Man backs into it, clutching his head as though he's suffering from a terrible migraine. At the sound, it's as if the shadowy outfit takes on a life of its own, becoming a terrifying, fanged, humanoid being with flashing silver eyes. It gives a spine-chilling scream of agony, as does its host. I catch a glimpse of the face behind the screaming creature, and recognize it. "Parker?"

My moment of stunned amazement soon ends. Parker is clawing at the black suit, trying to rip it off, and his screams suggest that it's paining him. I smile in cruel enjoyment of the spectacle. _You deserve it._

Parker succeeds in tearing a glove off. A small piece of the substance falls and lands on my jacket, then begins scrabbling around, trying to reach my skin. With a cry of horror, I rip off my jacket and throw it aside. Another piece lands on my palm and promptly begins to affix itself to me. I shake my hand, desperately trying to get it off. Then I feel the full weight of the rest of the suit as it lands on my shoulders. I turn my head and watch in petrified silence as the stuff claws its way to every inch of my body that isn't already covered. I open my mouth to scream, but instead of cool air flooding into my lungs, the black substance rushes in to fill the void. I try to cough it up and am rewarded with waves of burning pain. I manage to scream through the gunk in my mouth. It feels like liquid fire is pulsing through my veins, and every breath brings a fresh bout of pain. And yet. . .

This is great!

Boundless energy and strength flood into my limbs. I feel my muscles hardening. For once, I feel as though I'm in control, as though I'm invincible. _No one can stop me. Not Parker. Not Spider-Man. No one._

I smile maliciously and allow the symbiote to flow over my head.

I am engulfed.

END

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I have been informed (primarily by my mom) that this is not my best work. It wasn't particularly difficult to write, but I get distrac--Oh, look! A lizard! Where was I? Oh, right. Engulfed. The hardest part about writing this fic was trying to find a way to present you with Eddie's lust for vengeance and the events that took place in this scene without having one stamp out the other. When I read over it now, though, I get the feeling that I've only managed to convey Eddie's great misunderstanding of God, and that all the rest is somewhat pointless. Nevertheless, please review!


	4. Influenced

**At long last, here it is: Chapter 4!**

Influenced

_Metal groans; glass shatters. A scream. The woman's lifeless body slumps to the floor._

_"Rosie!"_

"My Rosie's dead."

_A fiery orb. The crowd gasps in awe. A sudden, searing pain as the whole thing implodes._

"My dream is dead."

_A mechanical whirring. A blindfold removed from my eyes. My own shock as I survey the chaos around me. . ._

"And these. . . monstrous things should be at the bottom of the river."

_A chaos of surgical tools, smashed tables, broken glass. . . and bodies. Bodies of those who had tried to help, to remove the actuators._

"Along with me," I conclude. The murky water swirls almost invitingly before me, like a good friend daring me to jump in. Just one step. That's all it would take to end my misery. To become one more piece of junk floating in the river. Yet I cannot bring myself to do it. A strange nagging in the back of my mind will not permit me.

"Something in my head," I mutter to myself, for there is no one else to hear me.

_"Do not. . ."_

"Something. . . talking." Those were not my thoughts. There was someone else in my mind with me. But who? I am the only one here, and it couldn't possibly be the actuators; the inhibitor chip keeps them under my control. "The inhibitor chip!"

I lift my hand to the back of my neck, praying it is still there. I feel the broken shell and singed wiring of what had been my protection. "Gone." A chill creeps slowly down my spine. I am now vulnerable to Their every whim. Unprotected.

It doesn't matter, I assure myself. They will not control me. Of this I am certain. . .

_"Rebuild," _one of Them whispers into my thoughts.

"Rebuild?" The thought is almost overwhelmingly appealing, but I quickly bury it, hiding behind an assurance of failure. "No," I reply. "Peter was right. I miscalculated."

_"Such a grave mistake could not possibly have gone unnoticed by such an esteemed scientist, now, could it?"_

_They're right. _I realize with a jolt. _I worked on this for years; If there was a fault, I would have found it!_

"I couldn't have miscalculated. It was working, wasn't it?"

_"Indeed. . ."_

"Yes." I smile, seeing myself finally recognized as one of the most brilliant scientists ever known. Theyseem just as eager as I as They snake through my imaginings. They really aren't that dangerous, after all. I begin to see that They only wish to serve me. "We can rebuild. Enlarge the containment field; make it bigger and stronger than ever!" I pause as something occurs to me: "But we need money."

I sigh, crestfallen. I hadn't realized how much I wanted to rebuild, to try again, until the ambition was ripped away. I recognize now how badly I desired a purpose, something to distract me from my pain.

_"We could take money."_ One of Them snakes around in front of me and _whirr_'s the thought.

"Steal it?" How could They think I would even consider such a primitive possibility? I turn away, adamant in my decision. "No, no, no; I'm not a criminal--"

_"Compare the price of theft to that of those who desperately need what your research can provide. What is the suffering of one man when contrasted to the millions who will benefit from your machine?"_

"That's right," I realize. Stealing is definitely the lesser of the two evils. "The real crime would be not to finished what we started. We'll do it here," I decide, overjoyed by this new sense of purpose, this new task. :The power of the sun in the palm of my hand. Nothing will stand in our way. Nothing!"

_"Of course. . ."_ all of Them agree eagerly, influenced by my own joy.

And yet I fail to realize. . .

I am influenced.

**Don't like it? Love it to death? REVIEW. Note: I'm going to have my dad proofread this eventually, but I'd still like to hear my readers' opinions.**


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